


What happens on Contraxia...

by von_gikkingen



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: To think I actually doubted all the things that have been said about this place during our flight here – in a supremely disgusted voice, by our glittery, arrogant idiot of a high priestess. But no, Ayesha was right for once. This really was the place to indulge your basest appetites in every conceivable manner. As I discovered to my delight not long after I separated from the group that accompanied her to this world.Given the unnecessarily big entourage she travelled with they probably didn’t even notice I was gone until they returned to the homeworld. They never bothered to come back to retrieve me, which suited me just fine.I liked this place. There was an honesty to it. Yes, we were all here to get laid – and what exactly was wrong with that...?
Relationships: Kraglin Obfonteri/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	What happens on Contraxia...

“Oh those... lovebots,” I say making a face. “Don’t get me wrong, they know what they’re doing. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Everything is so precisely calculated with them. Thorough, but just a little... mechanical. Have you ever known them to do anything clumsy? To seem unsure?” 

I stop right there even though I have far more complaints to add about the mechanical creations that, yes, left me satisfied every time, but somehow never gave me what I needed. There was a difference between sex and intimacy, it turned out. 

Quite the revelation for me, since I had to learn everything about the subject. My people’s culture being what it was... 

I myself have been grown in a vat because god forbid our perfect people engaged in something so base and primitive and so goddamn fun as producing the next generation the old-fashioned way. 

Well, at least I found myself in the best possible place in the universe to correct that. Because on Contraxia sex was not a taboo, it was the thing on everyone’s mind, always. 

To think I actually doubted all the things that have been said about this place during our flight here – in a supremely disgusted voice, by our glittery, arrogant idiot of a high priestess. But no, Ayesha was right for once. This really was the place to indulge your basest appetites in every conceivable manner. As I discovered to my delight not long after I separated from the group that accompanied her to this world. 

Given the unnecessarily big entourage she travelled with they probably didn’t even notice I was gone until they returned to the homeworld. They never bothered to come back to retrieve me – which suited me just fine. 

I liked this place. There was an honesty to it. Yes, we were all here to get laid – and what exactly was wrong with that...? 

And I was most certainly not spending tonight alone. Hell no. I was making up for too many years of being neglected in that area. Which did make me possibly a touch too enthusiastic. 

“The lovebots are fine,” says the Xandarian woman with whom I’ve been sharing my opinions. “I’d take them over some clumsy idiot that only cares about getting himself off.” 

“See, but I _like_ clumsy. That should be part of it, shouldn’t it? Sex is so goddamn weird when you really think about it. It should be a natural part of it, to be a little uncertain, shouldn’t it...?” 

“Well, then you’re in luck,” chuckles the woman with a gesture encompassing the snowy square full of the kind of galactic riffraff one really only gets on Contraxia. “Throw a rock and you’ll hit someone who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.” 

“Oh, that’s just mean,” I say, giving her a look. That, to be fair, isn’t completely unamused. 

“It’s not mean if it’s true,” she points out. “And the saddest part of it? I’m not just guessing here. I know those guys are useless from first hand experience.” 

“Oh _really_?” I say, suddenly seeing just how useful can this stranger I’ve been casually conversing with for lack of anything better to do be. 

“What?” she frowns, catching the mischievous gleam in my eyes. 

“Can you maybe make recommendations then?”

“Sure,” she chuckles in response. And immediately starts pointing out people to me, most of them to let me know who to steer away from. “That one will bruise you. Not in a bad way, he just doesn’t really know his own strength I guess. That one just wants you to lay there and will get weirded out when you do anything other than that. That’s a real selfish asshole right there, don’t even get me started...” 

Two full minutes later she’s still going, giving me possibly too much information. And as amusing, if at times a touch horrifying, this is I find I have to stop her. “What about that one...?” I say, pointing at a man in random. 

“Who, Kraglin? Yeah I... don’t actually know about that one. I heard he’s okay,” she says. 

“Did you...?” I say, smiling. Suddenly realizing that though I picked him at random I accidentally stumbled upon someone who almost counts as an old acquaintance. Because going by the outfit he definitely belongs to the Ravager clan we came here to contract, way back when I was still taking orders from Ayesha. 

“Whoa, slow down, horny,” says the woman, catching me by the forearm when she realizes I’m all set on walking away. “I said I heard he’s okay. As in I haven’t heard any major complaints from anyone. How is that enough of a recommendation for you...?” 

I just shrug, not entirely sure how to reply to that. 

“You should have higher standards, girl,” she shakes her head. “I mean... you do know how pretty you are, right? You can’t just go throwing yourself at the first scoundrel that walks by.” 

“Oh, pretty,” I say dismissively. “It just doesn’t mean much when you were _designed_ to be pretty. When you have been surrounded by nothing but pretty for every damn day since you emerged from the birthing pod. My people strive for perfection. But perfection is _so_ boring. Aesthetically pleasing in a completely predictable way is just... It can never be unique.” 

“Not on your world. But correct me if I’m wrong – aren’t you the only goldie on this planet...?”

“Sovereign,” I correct automatically. “I am, yes.” 

“That makes you _unique_ , honey,” she tells me. “That means you don’t have to settle. You can have whoever you want.” 

“Oh, I know that.” 

But even as I say the words I catch myself watching the Ravager in red again. 

“Oh well, suit yourself,” says my new acquaintance with a shake of her head. Giving her a parting smile I turn to go. Because it really is high time for my night to start turning more interesting. 

***

“I, ehm... I really don’t think you’re in my price range...” 

“I’m going to choose not be insulted by that” I say, giving him a sideways look. “Mainly because some of my best friends make a living that way and I never thought any less of them over it.” 

“Well, yes, there’s nothing wrong with...” he starts. 

“Oh good, so we’re in agreement,” I smile, letting him know there’s no need to go any further on the subject. “I don’t expect you to pay me. All I expect you to do is be worth my time. Think you can do that...?” 

There is no answer. There is however a look of suspicion on his face. One that takes me a moment to understand. “Oh,” I grin, “right. Here’s the thing you need to know about my people. If they took an issue with something you did – and I’m guessing they did, right? Yeah, their answer wouldn’t be to send an assassin to take you out. Not because an assassin that comes in this colour can’t exactly be inconspicuous. That wouldn’t even occur to them. It’s just that their usual solution is to send their whole goddamn fleet to deal with a problem. It’s overkill or nothing.” 

“Ehm, okay,” he says in response to that little speech. And some of the suspicion does clear from his expression. “They did actually do that.” 

“The _whole_ fleet?” I ask, having to bite down on a smile hearing that brings to my face. 

“Looked like it,” he confirms. 

“What a bunch of a-holes...” 

Something about me saying that actually seems to make him less uneasy. Possibly the way I inject a little too much feeling into the words. Not that I can help myself. Don’t seem to be able to discuss the Sovereign in any other way. 

“There is a reason I took the first chance to disassociate myself from those people,” I add, possibly unnecessarily. “And, look, I could keep complaining about just how unbearable it was to live among them. I can go on for hours. But I’d much rather be doing other things. That you _don’t_ have to pay me to do,” I clarify again. 

“But... _why_?” 

“Why what?” I frown. 

He stares at me, clearly wondering how to phrase things so I get what he’s telling me here.

In the end there’s no need. It takes a second but I do get what he’s having problem with now... “Not this again. I keep having to have that conversation. I can’t help how they made me. Yeah, I’m probably out of your league,” I roll my eyes. “How does that matter here?” 

“What...? Of course that matters.” 

“I say it doesn’t,” I tell him, taking a deep breath just to draw his attention to my breasts that look particularly appealing in the low-cut shirt I’m wearing. “Tell me you don’t want me. But you better brace yourself for being called a liar...” 

That actually gets me a chuckle. “You’re persistent,” he says, shaking his head at me. 

“Or horny. Either way – take advantage.” 

He will. I can tell the talking is over now. Even before I find his hand on the small of my back as he starts leading me to his ship. 

*** 

“Oh,” he says, running his eyes over me even as the previous doubt returns into his expression. “They really did make you _perfect_.” 

“Yeah,” I sigh. 

It is not the compliment it sounds like. What he means – what he’s absolutely right about – is that the shape of my body, the hourglass roundness of my figure, the fullness of my hips and the firm curve of my breasts all adds up to something that’s a little too perfect. Perfectly calculated to appeal. It’s the shape the lovebots come in. The perfect golden ratio of features that immediately arouses desire in most species. 

I take his hands and place them on my hips, my own clasped over them as I aid him in tracing the shape of me, the almost too-perfect curve of my side. “Perfection,” I repeat. “Nothing less would do for our kind. And then we spend our lives getting nothing out of it.” 

“That’s insane,” he says. 

“Tell me about it,” I sigh, old bitterness seeping into my thoughts. But even as I do so I realize that, though I’m no longer guiding his hands they haven’t gone anywhere. They’re still tracing their way upwards towards my breasts. And I have to smile as I feel my nipples starting to harden in reaction, in nothing more than anticipation of touch, as reluctant as it might be. 

And it will be. Things will go slow, I can just tell. I’ll catch him, time and again, questioning whether he should be touching something this perfect. 

That happens sometimes. A lot of the time, really. The golden hue of my skin doesn’t help, making me seem precious – too precious to be touched by anyone’s hands. I’ve had lovers tell me it feels like a sacrilege. A transgression of some kind. Something that ought to be forbidden. 

But it was my body, dammit, and things have been forbidden me for too long. My skin might have had the golden sheen of my people but unlike the smug bastards I did not feel uncivilized for letting someone touch it. I felt more perfect when I decided to share my body with someone. Perfectly alive. And I loved the feeling. I was not letting the prejudices of people half the galaxy away take that from me. “You’re wrong, you know,” I say to the Ravager whose hand is cupping my breast, with a touch so light it feels like it could be just my imagination. “I’m as imperfect as they come. No Sovereign is supposed to want to do this. Or this... or _this_...”

I have none of the reservations about touching him he has about touching me. No part of me is telling me this shouldn’t be allowed, that I’m unworthy somehow. Maybe I just like the contrast between us, the tattoos and scars marring his skin creating a sharp kind of contrast to the smooth perfection of my body. And maybe I enjoy it a little too much, the way I have to get on the tiptoe to be able to kiss him. Maybe all the little things about this moment already add up to something that is already rousing my desire... 

“And you’re sure you want this?” he says, suddenly very serious. And I know the answer I give, if I manage to make him believe it, will get me what I want. 

“I want this,” I say. 

It’s the last thing I say for a very long time. 

*** 

“Still think I’m perfect? Oh, _come on_ ,” I sigh when he gives me a blank look. “I have a lot of enthusiasm but does that really make up for the fact I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing?” 

“Yes you do,” he says only. And makes me believe it, which is pretty rare. I might not be particularly self-conscious – but that doesn’t make me any less aware that I have not had anywhere near as much practice as the people whose beds I share. 

“So...” I say, shifting my position until I’m laying on my side, “you expect me to believe you have no notes?” 

All I get in a way of answer is laughter. And there goes another thing I enjoy possibly too much. Because I don’t remember a whole lot of that going on before I relocated to Contraxia. 

If I haven’t already decided I’ll be staying for some more this would have done the trick. It was one thing to luck out on someone who knew how to satisfy me – but I actually liked this one. It was a lot of little things, really. Not all of them something I could put into words either. The best I could do was say I had a good feeling about this. About him. 

“It’s okay if I stay, right?” 

“Of course,” he says, never having to think about it. 

“And just to clarify – stay so we can do this again,” I say, because I get the idea that is not how he understood what I just said. “I’m insatiable like that...” 

*** 

It starts up again with no warning. One moment we’re just talking and then a look passes between us and I know I’ll have to find out how that story ends some other time. Because for all that he’s been running his fingers over my abdomen with casual intimacy I found I enjoyed very much, there is suddenly a little more urgency to that touch.

When the slight pressure of his fingers on my hip tells me he wants me to get closer I do so without a thought. 

Instead of merely being satisfied with being once again in contact with his bodyheat, with his lips on my neck, I push him back after a moment, so I can get on top. Just to offer him the view I’ve been told many times is something to behold. And the look on his face as I do so is makes me glad I got overenthusiastic like that. 

Because maybe it’s not the worst thing, this perfection that’s been chosen for me. If it’s something I can use to make someone this happy, maybe I don’t really mind being almost unnaturally beautiful. 

We stay like that for a moment, him just looking at me, unable to believe his luck. And I find it impossible not to smile and look away, because there’s only so much open adoration I can take. Still I wait for him to have his fill of the view, let him take as much time as he needs to realize I’m not here just to be admired. And he doesn’t disappoint, taking only a few short seconds before he remembers that he has every permission to touch me. 

Things happen differently this time. With all the uncertainty now gone it all goes so much more smoother. As much as he likes the sight of me as I straddle him he pulls me down before long. And we’re just a little awkward as we’re finding our way to settle into a position and as ever I find myself enjoying it somehow, enjoying the way it reassures me that no one ever really knows what they’re doing when their body starts taking over and there’s not much thinking going on anymore. On an impulse I kiss him, just because not doing so feels like an impossibility just then. And before our lips are parted I can feel his first thrust, sending waves of pleasure through me. 

It’s incomparable to the first time, this far more spontaneous moment between us. No slow buildup of arousal, there’s no time to waste on that, we’re both far too impatient. We simply act on the strongest impulses we feel. And it’s fast and hard and impossible to slow down, the way our bodies collide. It’s everything I didn’t have time to ask for and yet he’s giving it to me all the same, making me cry out in pleasure time and again. 

“See _that,_ ” I say, breathlessly, long minutes later, “that is far better than anything you can buy on this planet.” 

Not knowing what to say to that he just laughs. Which is probably fair. Still, I can never keep these things to myself. When I’m pleased I want the person responsible to know what they did. To take all the credit. And he deserved _a lot_ of credit. 

I want to ask him how long he’s staying on Contraxia and how he feels about us meeting up tomorrow to explore this some more, because it really feels like we have a good thing here. I want to but I can already feel the pull of sleep, the way my pleasantly aching muscles need the rest it will bring. Tomorrow then. We’ll have that conversation tomorrow. If something better doesn’t come up first... 


End file.
